


body and mind

by everlastingtremors



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bondage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sadism, little bit of thancred/urianger. just a little bit.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlastingtremors/pseuds/everlastingtremors
Summary: The night is young and full of terrors, and Lahabrea will not rest until his former vessel lay broken and battered at his feet.
Relationships: Lahabrea/Thancred Waters
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	body and mind

He could not recall when he had fallen asleep— _if he had fallen asleep_ — or where and what he had been doing prior. Muddled thoughts felt thick and ungraspable, powerful waves that crashed against the shore of his skull. Hooded eyelids fluttered, and with a sudden sense of urgency, Thancred willed himself to open them fully. His flesh felt cold, bones stiff, body _exposed,_ and when he reached to feel his own bare chest to ensure this sense of exposure was warranted, his wrists had no give, and the scraping rattle of metal against stone forced aside the dreariness that had threatened to put him back under. Mouth parted, and with a sharp inhale, grey eyes hardened, lips following suit. 

“Gods…” he murmured, the word quiet but harsh. Thancred gave his wrists an experimental twist, feeling around for the bindings behind his back to give himself a better assessment of the situation. Metal. That much was certain. But unusually snug in that the cuffs neither gave any room to spare nor bit too tightly into his flesh. Wrists layered, one atop the other. _A perfect fit_ , he thought to himself, heart quickening against his will. There was no point in unnecessary thrashing; it would serve only to hurt himself and alert his captors to his consciousness. Perhaps there was a weakness to exploit with enough force, but now was not the time for uncertain action. 

Now was the time to gather intelligence. Thancred lay still, careful to leave the chains undisturbed for the moment, and turned his attention to his surroundings. A cellar of stone, frigid, though he suspected his susceptibility to the cold was due to the absence of his coat, chestpiece, gauntlets. However, whoever had taken him here at least had the courtesy to leave him his pants and boots. To which he furrowed his brow and glowered at the wall as though it could hear his internal displeasure: _how hospitable of you._

Shifting his legs around, he determined they were mercifully unbound. He would take any advantage his captors were stupid enough to offer. Head turned to see if any other details stood out to him, but there was nothing noteworthy within his line of sight. Only darkness, and a cold that almost seemed to sap the strength from his very bones. Thancred gave a shuddering inhale, and prepared to find a way to sit up without making too much noise, only to grow still, glaring sideways toward the wall behind him. He did not move his head, listening keenly, alert to a presence that had not been there before. “Would you care to join me, or do you simply prefer to watch? I haven’t the time to be playing games.” he asked, tone normal, voice even. The time for silence had passed, it seemed.

It was a struggle to haul himself upright, but when his fingers found the steel anchor point on the floor for his bindings, he grabbed hold of it, dug his soles into the rugged stone, and clumsily sat up. His head throbbed, the sort of momentary weakness customary of rising too quickly, but he squeezed his eyes shut and allowed it to pass. Heavy boots scraped against the ground as the presence circled around toward Thancred’s front, and when he opened his eyes again, it took him but a moment to drink in his captor’s armored black robes, curved, clawed gauntlets, and shrouded face. _An Ascian? How did you accomplish this…? What of the others?_

Heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest, but he refused to allow dread to register upon his face until the lips beneath a mask that seemed oh-too-familiar graced him with a quip of the Ascian’s own: “How I have longed for the day that I might look down upon you again, scion.” 

Then it struck him. He could not hinder the aghast expression that seized him. _Lahabrea?_ Very nearly he almost said the name aloud. _It cannot be. The Warrior of Light saw you perish, saw your aether absorbed—_

He hadn’t the time to fully finish the thought. The Ascian laughed, and at once Thancred regretted the lapse of composure. The voice of the vessel was unfamiliar, but the cruel laughter of the vile creature that had once worn his skin was unmistakable. Fingers curled into fists behind his back, but he made no further movements, watching Lahabrea instead with a pointed glare. “So you’ve come back for seconds, have you?” Thancred said with a snide scoff, “Are the theatrics truly necessary? Take my damn body if you must. You’re certainly in the ideal position to do so. Unless…”

His intention had been to buy time, to get the insufferable bastard to gloat, perhaps, to subtly try and test the strength of the chains that bound wrist and floor anchor together. Lahabrea had other ideas. A clawed gauntlet lashed out to take hold of Thancred’s chin, forcing his head to look up at a most uncomfortable angle, and dug the metal talons into his skin. Body recoiled at the motion, but Lahabrea’s grip held fast. _Damnable Ascian!_ His thoughts spiralled into a sudden frenzy, repulsed by both the contact and the proximity between himself and this monstrosity. If only he weren’t bound! If only he had his blade in hand, and could bury a cartridge of ammunition directly into Lahabrea’s miserable skull!

“It would do you well to mind your bothersome tongue.” Lahabrea held him there and watched with unyielding lips as though to look over his prize. Thancred would not give him the pleasure of diverting his gaze, and yet to have to stare into the empty pits of the Ascian’s mask made his stomach churn with unease. Only after he had deemed his observation complete did Lahabrea release him and say, “I have no need for your flesh, scion.” 

Thin beads of blood left slow, wet trickles down Thancred’s jaw where the claws had dug in most forcefully. His breath cusped on laborious, and again he cursed Lahabrea for his ability to effortlessly shatter his calm. “Then what is it you want?” He asked flatly, quietly.

Lahabrea smiled. Thin-lipped, smug, a brief gesture before he flicked his wrist and slammed Thancred back onto his side with a magick so forceful his head spun upon contact with the floor. A hiss escaped him, and he attempted to right himself once more, but Lahabrea was upon him with a violent suddenness to force him onto his back and straddle him.

“ _…What?_ ” Thancred managed, thrown off once more into a display of blatant horror. One instant the mask leered down at him, and in the next Lahabrea had slipped a hand onto the nape of Thancred’s neck to hold the back of his head in place as he moved in to brush his lips gently against Thancred’s tattoo. Hot breath kissed his neck, then jaw, inching closer to his ear until his eardrum itself felt warm and damp.

“I desire but one thing, _Thancred_ ,” Lahabrea hissed the name with serpentine delight, “and that is to see you broken.”

Any pretence of self-control vanished in an instant. Thancred struggled to pull away, but Lahabrea’s hands were unbreakable fetters, and his own wrists remained lodged beneath their combined weight. Lips hovered over his jaw, first gentle, then abruptly harsh. Lahabrea bit and kissed with no restraint, moving where he willed and forcing Thancred’s head to one side when he tired of his jawline and earlobe. Tongue explored freely, growing precariously close to Thancred's lips when Lahabrea travelled back up from his exposed collarbones. At the same time, his free hand wandered Thancred's side, stroking his body like a passionate lover and not a mortal enemy. Despite his thrashing, Thancred could not help but freeze when he felt Lahabrea’s rising erection against his abdomen.

Helplessness gripped him. Wild eyes looked to his captor, whose lips took pause right above the crook of his neck. Then Lahabrea lifted his head, the smile he had so briefly seen still plain beneath the fangs of his mask. “Just as I once made your body my own,” he said, leaning in close, “I too shall make your mind mine.”

“Lahabrea—” Thancred sputtered, but he hadn’t the words to pursue the venom pooling on the tip of his tongue. It occurred to him just how muddled his mind had become, almost as intense as when he had first awoken. His gut churned, this time not solely with unease, but with a swelling warmth that rivalled Lahabrea’s breath against his bare skin. _Gods_ , he snapped his eyes shut with the knowledge that his member was hardening just the same as the Ascian’s, pelvis slowly beginning to beg for attention.

_He knows,_ came a clear thought. Lahabrea released his head. Hand travelled down, the tips of his claws ghosting Thancred’s flesh, and stopped to grope every inch of his body along the way. _The wretched fiend knows exactly where to go._ It should not have come as a surprise. The Ascian had walked in his skin, and felt every single bodily sensation as Thancred himself would have. It was vile, the realization that Lahabrea had memorized every inch of his body inside and out and remembered it even after all this time. Lips hit every tender spot, and the claws found his weaknesses without fail.

The hand moved further down, and for a tantalizing moment, Thancred found himself praying that it would travel all the way down to his belt buckle. Those fingers had paid perfect tribute to his upper body, and even now, Lahabrea’s other hand caressed his side. The wandering hand, however, reached beneath his own black robes to liberate a fully erect cock from his underclothes. The bastard was going to jerk himself off, Thancred realized as the Ascian’s glove dissipated into shadow to uncover a bare hand. Lahabrea leaned in toward his ear and groaned ever so quietly, hand working his cock against Thancred’s chest. “I will kill you,” Thancred gasped, murderous eyes clamping shut as he dug the back of his head into the floor in vain effort to ignore the stiff member in his pants, pulsing with desire. Lahabrea moaned, and though he bared his teeth in hatred, Thancred could not help but roll his hips forward, attempting to rub against Lahabrea’s body in search of relief. “Mark my words—” Lahabrea’s strokes were growing more fervored as Thancred struggled to speak, “I will put you down like— the dog— that you are.”

“Keep barking,” Lahabrea murmured in his ear, “I want to savor every _second_ of your resistance.” He let out an immediate, shivering moan, the slightest hint of warm fluid splattering onto Thancred’s chest. Surely the Ascian knew of the ache that was beginning to creep into Thancred’s groin; in fact, he was positive that Lahabrea knew by the way his self-strokes grew slower, yet the panting in his ear had intensified, and the body pressed against his own laid fully tense. Thancred's pelvis rolled forward again, unwillingly, but there was no pleasure to be found, even rubbing against the Ascian that sought to deny him. Hate, seething hate, swirled in his ribcage, and when Lahabrea finally let out a moan of utter ecstasy, a violent flush crept into Thancred’s cheeks as cum spattered onto his chest, his neck, his face.

Grey eyes opened as Lahabrea admired his handiwork. He sat upright, and though only his mouth was visible, it radiated with utter satisfaction at the mess beneath him; a man with heaving chest, covered in a trail of warm cum, trying so desperately not to let his throbbing member betray him and failing completely. His gut burned furiously with lust; but was it bloodlust or a lust to be touched? Thancred couldn’t tell, and it disgusted him.

“There is nothing,” Thancred panted, “ _Nothing_ to be gained from this.” _So finish me and be done with it,_ he wanted to add, but refused. He would not beg. He would _not_ allow Lahabrea that victory. It was a half-baked utterance, and without the clarity of mind to rephrase, he stared up at Lahabrea slack-jawed and breathless.

“I will be done with you when I _choose_ to be done,” Lahabrea replied, and it took Thancred a moment to realize that it was a response not to his words, but his thoughts. Had he spoken them aloud and not even realized it? Confusion set upon his brow, Thancred stiffened, but did not withdraw from the clawed hand that moved to brush hair from his face. Like the kisses before, it was an unusually demure gesture. The sort of gesture that set him on edge, awaiting the rough aftermath. Yet no immediate retribution came. Lahabrea braced his bare hand on Thancred’s breast, above his heavy-beating heart. The Ascian slid back a little, still straddling his victim, only now with access to his belt buckle. “If you are so desperate to be finished, then I will gladly watch you _squirm_.”

Lahabrea had both hands perfectly free, yet refused to move his palm from Thancred’s chest. Opposite hand worked to unclasp his pants, to free his aching dick and take it in hand. The anticipation of being jerked off clashed with the terrified denial that Lahabrea could read his mind. _What am I thinking now, then? That I wish you, your kind, and your god would rot in the pits of the seven hells!_

For a brief instant, Lahabrea’s grip tightened around Thancred’s member. Then it loosened once more, and he began to stroke. With each motion he sent a shiver of pleasure up the length of Thancred’s dick and into his gut, interrupting his train of thought as primal instincts sought to fulfill the orgasm he so desperately craved. Rapture overtook his very bones, and releasing any dignity he still clung to, Thancred uttered a longing moan, mouth agape at the slow build that was beginning to come to a climax. “Gods,” he gasped, back arching, leaning the best he could into Lahabrea’s hand, heat pooling in the back of his neck, his face, and most intensely in his groin.

Then Lahabrea stopped. _Keep going, for the love of the Twelve!_ Thancred clenched his jaw and half-stifled an agonized groan. In equal measure he tried to stifle his thoughts, begging desperately for release, but his brain was a traitor through-and-through. Lahabrea laughed as Thancred’s hands itched to be free if only so he could finish himself off. “You fancy yourself a guardian? A pathetic whelp drained dry of his ability to wield magicks, who cries out for the very one he despises to touch him? You are the same now as you were then, _Thancred_ — _weak_ , _pliable_ , a puppet to my whims and nothing more.”

He had no words, nor retort. Just a screaming desire that could not be silenced, and gasping breaths that bordered on a whine. How bitterly he wished to deny those claims. But he could not liberate himself from these shackles or even pull himself out from beneath Lahabrea. Mind and body both invaded by the enemy, stopping short only of complete possession. How could he have ever felt so strong, like a wall dividing his allies between those who sought to do them harm, only to be robbed of that strength in an instant?

The throbbing ache had barely started to subside when Lahabrea’s hand crept back toward Thancred’s crotch. Again Lahabrea began to stroke him, each movement a tease. Thancred thrust his hips with abandon this time, pride naught but a pile of smoking ashes. Eyes rolled up beneath closed eyelids, and he could not help his groaning behind clenched teeth. If Lahabrea denied him again, he would surely scream. Closer and closer he worked Thancred to his climax, and he awaited his long-sought orgasm, craving it, _needing_ it.

He knew it would never come, and yet his body, in all its hedonistic glory, still felt the sharp pang of betrayal when Lahabrea pulled his hand away. Thancred cried out in frustration, the ache of his throbbing dick consuming his entire lower half. “What will it take?” He begged, only then to forget his very own question as a different sort of sensation enveloped him. Heat— _real heat_ , and not the heat of raw lust. The skin of his breast beneath Lahabrea’s hand was warm, then hot, then suddenly scorching as discomfort morphed into pain. _Let it end!_ He thought between the desire and the twitching howl of every nerve in his body when breast began to broil, then burn. _Gods, just let it end!_

The indignity of his choked scream made him wish he could turn to dust where he laid. He was not unfamiliar to pain, and this? Succumbing to _this_ in front of Lahabrea, of all people? Thancred writhed. The smell of his own burning flesh was enough to briefly forget the humiliation, only for it all to come flooding back when Lahabrea slid his dormant hand back and ended whatever spell that had been at work beneath his palm. So much as a scratch would be enough to win a noise from him now, that much was clear. And Lahabrea would not pass up such an inviting opportunity. Gauntlet rematerialized in a dark swirl of shadow around the hand that had burned him. Sharp edge of the claw trailed down his chest, first hovering around his collarbones, but growing in intensity as he dragged it down the length of Thancred’s body. By the time it reached his abdomen, it left a full gash in its wake. But it won only a pained groan, and that was not sufficient. Lahabrea lashed out, clawing open his already-wounded breast. He screamed wholly, attempted to jerk upwards, and when that failed from the sudden pressure of a hand around his throat, whipped his head to one side and ground his brow against the stone floor as though it would detract from the unbearable sting that seeped fully into his muscles and spread into his bones.

There was no time to recover. Lahabrea’s ungloved hand flew to his dick and began to massage it for the third time. “Beg,” the Ascian commanded, barely registering above the sensory overload that dominated his entire being.

_No_ , he meant to say, but his voice withered and died in his throat, too weak to win out above the desperate and wretched moaning he no longer had any hope of suppressing. Yet when Lahabrea paused, his mind cried out _please,_ and though he vocalized with only a whimper, it was enough to satisfy his captor, and Lahabrea continued.

The next command was a near immediate, “Beg _me._ ”

Thancred obeyed, if only in his head. _Please, Lahabrea._ Despite his obedience, Lahabrea’s hand slowed to a crawl. “Use your voice.” And pathetically enough— he would have done so in an instant if he had been able to vocalize. The hand on his crotch was unsympathetic, however, and stopped. Lips quavered, and between his riled breaths, he managed a winded plea: “Please, Laha— Lahabrea.”

And thus Lahabrea continued, Thancred ever so grateful that the Ascian was allowing him his coveted reward. As Lahabrea worked, his free hand returned to his own member and he allowed himself a second round while Thancred still awaited his orgasm with unbearable eagerness. Finally, _finally_ , he approached the peak he had already skirted twice. Pleasure swelled in his groin and enveloped his dick. The sensation was smothering, and with his pelvis firmly pressed as hard as he could manage against Lahabrea’s hand, he finally continued past the point of no return. Thancred gasped a moan, heat pooling in the extremity of his member, and with a shivering groan that cusped on a cry, burst with lust— not bloodlust, he had determined, but raw, unbridled _lust_ to be fucked to oblivion— and ejaculated into Lahabrea’s hand, spurting onto himself and the floor.

Trembling, legs slid flat onto the floor and the tension in his shoulders fell. Starved for breath, Thancred gasped and wheezed, ignorant of Lahabrea’s climax until once more his cum splattered onto his chest. He knew the Ascian’s delight in witnessing the limp way in which he lay and the complete and utter defeat that had seized his face in the way he tried to bury his head into the stone, but there was naught to be done now. Their battle was over, and just like before, Lahabrea had been declared the victor.

The Ascian said nothing, however, and Thancred could tell by his movements that he was cleaning himself up the best he could. How did it feel to be in control, he wondered? To be able to walk away with perfect composure, appetite for pleasure wholly satiated? He didn’t know, and he decided that he quite frankly didn’t care. When Lahabrea rose to his feet, Thancred rolled onto his side with a grunt of effort to alleviate the pressure on his arms. Other than that, he had no strength to move. No strength to open his eyes and look at the one who had dominated him completely not once, but now twice.

“Body and mind,” Lahabrea repeated, looming over his exhausted form. He knelt and drew close to Thancred’s ear once again. “If ever you believe yourself to be a free man— I give you leave to look back upon this moment and remember that _you are mine_.”

Whatever fight he had in him upon his awakening had vanished. Thancred listened without reply, and Lahabrea stood to depart. There were no footsteps as he vanished, but so long as the Ascian had fled for the moment, whether by foot or by portal, it was all the same to Thancred.

Humiliated, he laid, and refused to stir until the shattered pride within his mangled breast began to mend itself.

* * *

His rude awakening came in the form of a heavier-than-usual inhale of breath as Thancred opened his eyes and woke with the smallest of starts. His body ached. Stirring from his slumber, however, he sat up and carefully measured his surroundings as though uncertain of reality. A humble tent. Sparse furnishings suited for travel. He looked down and over at his hands, turning them them over to fully examine his skin. No bruises. Fingers gravitated to his chest and his stomach turned to find it bare; then he recalled how uncomfortable it was to sleep in armor, and how until recently, sleeping bare-chested was a luxury he could not afford. Thancred gingerly ran his hand across his breast, though in the midst of his self-exploration he caught a movement from the corner of his eye and looked up to find Urianger watching him from the small table upon which Thancred ate and Urianger studied.

The book in Urianger's hands was fully lowered, and in his best attempt to be subtle, Thancred moved to rub the nape of his neck as though to massage a body sore from slumber in a rickety cot. He could sense the speech on the tip of Urianger’s tongue despite this effort, however, and cut him off before he had the chance to begin. “I’ll be alright.”

He could tell Urianger wasn’t convinced in the slightest. The Scions had no desire to pretend they couldn’t see right through his stoic facades, but at least they mostly had the courtesy to back off when presented to them. But a slight pang of guilt ate at his ribcage, and he relented as he swung his legs over the side of the cot: “Not right now. Perhaps later.”

Now was not the time for shivering recollections and the comfort of a close companion. Now was the time for uncertain action— something, _anything_ to alleviate the sting of a particularly poignant nightmare. So Thancred moved to dress in his armour, all the while uncomfortably aware of Urianger’s stare.

It was a discomfort that turned to a strange easiness, though, when he remembered that he was not alone. Time had passed since his body had been hijacked, and he was stronger for it. Lahabrea was dead. And though a hellish incarnation of him remained, he was unable to harm anyone.

“Thou needeth not cast aside thy troubles as though they matter none,” Urianger said at last.

Thancred paused mid-clasp as he donned his chest-piece. A soft, faint smile dawned on his face, and he shook his head. “Ever the wise man,” he replied with a shrug, “Though I’m most certain you already have an idea of my troubles without me having to utter a single word.” That hellish incarnation _could_ still harm a single person, and he wasn’t like to forget it so long as he shared a room with any of his fellow scions. “Tonight, then. We’ve an abomination with world-saving potential to explore in the meantime.”

He was a lucky man. A nightmare was but a nightmare, and slowly, he was beginning to shed the blight that had once plagued him every time he slept. Someday it would be gone entirely, and Lahabrea would be dead in both soul and memory.

The night was full of terrors, but he would always have the stars to guide him.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the fic control, written by mythros_cat. thanx for fueling the nasty.


End file.
